CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
EMMA
A week into our “reset,” we plan an official going-out date night.
Not a “let’s eat pasta at the table and pretend Ruby won’t streak through the hallway” date night.
A real one.
All the ingredients of romance: fancy clothes, a reservation at a restaurant where no one offers crayons for the table, and the delicious possibility of remembering we’re not just Mum and Dad, we’re Emma and Dan.
Yes, there’s the stress of organising a babysitter.
Hannah to the rescue… again.
And yes, there’s the briefing. The minor (major) changes in what the kids expect since the last time she babysat.
Oscar needs his dinosaur nightlight on but not too bright. Sophie needs two sips of water, not three, because three is “too many.” Ruby needs her bunny and a very specific song, whispered, not sung, or she will scream like she’s being exorcised.
Hannah stands in our hallway listening with the patient expression of a woman with no children and a fully functioning nervous system.
“I feel like I should be getting paid extra for this,” she says, deadpan.
“You should be getting a medal,” I reply, and I mean it.
Dan squeezes my hand briefly as we step outside, and the second the door closes behind us I feel it, this strange mix of freedom and guilt.
I nearly talk myself out of it in the first thirty seconds.
Then I remember Dan telling me to start putting myself first.
He’s right.
I’m always too busy looking after everyone else, making sure their needs are met, their routines followed, their worlds running smoothly, while mine slowly unravels in the background.
But not tonight.
Tonight, I’m allowing myself this.
Allowing us this.
I tell myself it will be good for the kids too. If Dan and I are happier together, if we feel like a team again, maybe I’ll be less overwhelmed, less stretched so thin, less… shouty.
Maybe I won’t spend my days snapping over cereal spills and misplaced shoes because I’m drowning under the weight of everything else.
Maybe, just maybe, taking this time for us will make me a better me. A better mum. A better wife.
I smooth down my dress and glance at Dan.
He’s watching me with that look, the one I used to see all the time but had almost forgotten.
Like I’m his.
Not just a mother or the keeper of schedules.
But Emma.
The woman he fell in love with.
I smile, and for the first time in a long time, it feels easy.
We sit across from each other at a dimly lit table, and I attempt to channel my younger, flirtier self.
I lean in, resting my chin on my palm. “So. What’s new with you?”
Dan blinks. “Um. You mean, besides the fact that I live with you and see you every day?”
I kick him under the table. “Just play along.”
He grins. “Well. Work is the same. Oscar tried to convince me that wearing socks to bed makes your feet smell better. I don’t think that’s true, but I appreciate his confidence.”
I nod solemnly, swirling my wine glass. “Solid conversation starter. Any new hobbies?”
He considers. “I started stretching before bed.”
We stare at each other.
Then we both burst out laughing.
“Okay,” I admit, wiping under my eyes. “This is actually fun.”
“It is,” he agrees, reaching for my hand across the table. “You know… I feel like we’re dating again.”
I grin. “Then we should probably make out in the car and complain about how uncomfortable the seats are.”
“Deal.”
And the thing is… it doesn’t feel forced. It doesn’t feel like we’re acting. It feels like we’re remembering.
The date goes smoothly, no awkwardness, no forced conversation, just us. Talking, laughing, reminiscing like we haven’t in years.
And God, does he look hot tonight.
Maybe it’s because I’m actually looking at him properly for the first time in ages, but damn. The way his shirt fits just right across his chest. The way his eyes crinkle when he laughs. The way he leans in when I speak like I’m the only person in the world he wants to listen to.
I feel that pull.
That electric, heart-racing, stomach-flipping pang of desire I haven’t felt in so long.
And for the first time in ages, I actually want him.
Not in an obligated “we haven’t done it in a while” kind of way.
In a deep, aching way. In a way that makes me squeeze my legs together just to give myself some friction.
We walk home side by side through Oakwood, the town unusually quiet now that the day has finally exhaled.
Oakwood at night feels like a different place. Shop windows dark. Streets bathed in soft pools of amber light. The faint hum of distant traffic the only reminder the world is still moving somewhere beyond us.
Our footsteps echo gently on the pavement, unhurried, in sync.
There’s tension between us.
Thick. Tangible.
It lingers in the air, in the way neither of us is speaking, in the way our arms brush now and then as we walk.
It isn’t awkward. It’s charged.
Dan reaches for my hand, his fingers curling around mine without hesitation.
His palm is warm, solid, and when he laces his fingers through mine, I feel it everywhere. His hand is big, wrapped around mine, making me feel small in the best possible way. Safe.
I glance up at him and he takes my breath away.
The moonlight picks out the strong line of his jaw, the familiar slope of his nose. He looks… good. Really good. His shoulders seem broader somehow in the dim light, his presence filling the space beside me effortlessly.
At six foot three, with that solid, muscular frame, he’s always been imposing in a quiet way.
Not intimidating. Protective. Steady.
The kind of man you feel secure walking beside in the dark.
The kind of man you want to press yourself against.
His thumb brushes over the back of my hand, slow and deliberate, and my skin prickles in response. Such a small gesture, yet it sends a ripple through me, igniting something I’d almost forgotten how to feel.
The town is so still it feels like we’re the only two people in it.
No cars pass. No voices drift from open windows.
Just us, the cool night air, and the low murmur of our breathing.
I realise my body is leaning toward his without consciously choosing to.
Drawn in by his warmth. By the way he walks so close our hips nearly brush. Every step feels deliberate. Loaded with anticipation. I feel wanted. I feel seen.
And as his hand tightens around mine, I know he feels it too.
Oakwood sleeps around us, unaware, while something between us stirs back to life.
And I can’t wait to get home.
The house is silent when we return. Hannah greets us in the hallway like she’s just survived a war zone.
“All good,” she says, grabbing her coat. “No one died.”
I laugh, and then she glances between Dan and me and gives me a knowing little wink.
The tension between Dan and I is palpable. Hannah absolutely knows where this is heading.
We thank her, and as the door clicks shut behind her, the silence feels different.
We tiptoe upstairs like teenagers trying not to wake up our parents.
There’s a weird nervousness between us, like we’re both afraid to make the first move. Dan clears his throat. I crack my knuckles.
“So,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh… you wanna…?”
“Yep.”
Little does he know, I’m virtually gagging for it. Dripping for him, even.
We stare at each other. Then at the bed. Then back at each other.
This is stupid. We’re married. We’ve done this a million times.
Why does it feel like we’re two strangers about to embark on an awkward arranged-marriage consummation?
I decide to go for it.
I pull my dress over my head in what I imagine is a sexy, effortless way.
It is not.
The fabric gets caught. My arms tangle in the sleeves. I shimmy like a woman being attacked by her own wardrobe, lose my balance, and stumble backward into the dresser.
Dan rushes to help, grabs the dress, and I hear a rip.
Silence.
“Oh no,” he murmurs, holding up a chunk of fabric.
“I liked that dress,” I whimper.
He presses his lips together, trying and failing not to laugh.
“If you laugh,” I warn, narrowing my eyes, “I swear to God…”
His shoulders shake. “I’m sorry, but…”
I smack him with a pillow.
He retaliates by tackling me onto the bed, and suddenly we’re laughing, tangled in sheets, our awkwardness dissolving into something lighter, something real.
Dan’s weight presses against me, firm, solid, and it sends a thrill through me.
My dress is still tangled somewhere between my shoulders and arms, revealing glimpses of the black lace underwear I put on because I know it’s his favourite.
I let out a breathless laugh as I struggle to free myself.
But then Dan chuckles, low and rough, and something about the way he’s looking at me, his pupils dark, his lips slightly parted, makes my laughter turn to a needy gasp.
His hands move slow and deliberate, helping me untangle.
But he doesn’t rush.
He drags his fingertips over my bare skin as he goes, tracing along my arms, my shoulders, and shivers skate down my spine.
And then we’re still. Just breathing. Just looking.
I can feel his body pressing into mine, his warmth, his strength, and God, I want him.
Every nerve in my body is suddenly awake.
Buzzing with the need to close the space between us.
I pull his head down and catch his lips in a deep, slow kiss.
He groans softly into my mouth like he’s been waiting for this too, like he’s been holding himself back and now he’s finally allowed.
His hands grip my waist, firm and possessive, and heat floods me.
I wrap my legs around him, locking him in, needing more, needing all of him.
He deepens the kiss, and it isn’t just a kiss.
It’s a claim. Hungry and desperate.
It’s every missed touch and every unspoken word, every I love you that got lost in the chaos of life, all wrapped up in this moment.
I don’t want to think. I don’t want to talk. I just want to feel him, all of him.
And from the way Dan’s hands move over me, the way his body presses even closer, I know he feels exactly the same.
It happens.
For the first time in what feels like forever, we finally find that deep, mind-numbing, body-resetting kind of sex like we used to.
Quiet, because the kids are down the hall, but somehow that only makes it more intense.
Every touch filled with the kind of want we haven’t let ourselves feel in far too long.
And my God, it’s incredible. There are no distractions. No stress. No overthinking. Just us. A fire rekindled. A spark reignited. A connection that never really left, just buried under years of exhaustion and logistics and resentment.
After, we lie tangled together, skin still buzzing, heart still racing.
Dan’s fingers trace absentminded patterns on my arm, his lazy satisfied grin matching my own.
And in the quiet, with Oakwood asleep around us, I feel something I haven’t felt in a long time.
Wanted.
And for the first time in ages, I let myself believe it:
Maybe we really can find our way back.